


An Open Letter to My Father: One I Will Never Be Brave Enough To Give Him

by Schweet



Series: A Series of Open Letters [3]
Category: Essay - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LGBTQ Themes, Queer Themes, Religious Guilt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schweet/pseuds/Schweet
Summary: I really hate myself tonight gamers. I hope you are doing better than I am.
Series: A Series of Open Letters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816228
Kudos: 2





	An Open Letter to My Father: One I Will Never Be Brave Enough To Give Him

Hi Daddy,

The only reason I told you was because Mommy wanted me to. She thought it was the lying to you that was tearing me apart. It wasn’t that.

It was the thought of  _ telling _ you.

Lily already knew, Cristin wasn’t ruffled, Mommy is trying to understand, you… I don’t know what you are doing. What you think. What you thought. What you feel when you look at me now.

I know you said you still love me, and I have to believe you, even though I had a hard enough time believing you before. But I try.

You love me, but do you accept me?

Are you proud of me? Of who I am?

Because I’m not.

I hate myself for it. And I don’t know how to tell anyone that, let alone you. Who still puts up a wall when I mention it. When I mention it to anyone else in the same room as you.

Why do you think I can barely bring myself to go to church, even though Mommy wants me to, even though it’s just in our living room. Do you think it’s because I’m lazy? Just don’t want to? What do you think? Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe it’s because I’m terrified of entering the building where I learned to hate myself? The community that taught me to love everyone is also the community that taught me that I am a monster.

_ I believe I am a monster _ .

The only person I have ever told that was Daniel from Crisis Text Line. Last week. He said no one deserves to feel like a monster, but he didn’t ask why I felt like a monster. Why I still do. Every single day. Why I cry in my bathtub. Why I am up every night until 4am. Why I am scared of being left behind. Why I can’t look directly at the rainbows I have hung on my walls. Why I am so uncomfortable in this body I have been given. With the heart I am stuck with. With the colours I can’t wash out of my skin, no matter how hard I scrub or how deep I cut.

Last week when I came home, when I helped you set up your fancy new work bench for your Christmas lights, I almost cried. I wanted to tell you a joke. I love telling jokes. It makes me feel closer to you. I especially like it when I can make you laugh, which is almost never.

I wanted to say “See Daddy, once I get a girlfriend, you’ll have someone to help you who actually knows how to use a tool”. I really really wanted to say that. I almost did. If it wasn’t you, I would have.

I knew you wouldn’t have wanted to hear that. You were so excited about your new bench, I didn’t want to ruin that for you. For you to think of me loving a woman every time you sit at that desk.

I don’t know how to tell you this without making you feel guilty, which is not my intention. I just want to understand what is going on behind my mouth. About all the words I do not say around you. About all the things I want to share with you but push down instead. Of all the things I am finding I want to live for but am too scared to tell you about despite how much you say you want me alive.

I almost killed myself again 8 days ago, in the middle of a class I was supposed to present a script in. I turned off my camera and stared at the drawer that holds my antipsychotics. Wondering how many I would need to take to prevent myself from waking up.

The night before I was up until 7am crying fully-clothed in my bathtub with a knife against my wrists because I could not reconcile who I am with who I should have been. Because I cannot stop hating myself for the kind of love I have in my heart. Because if I hate myself for this, then other people should as well.

I have always waited for people to discover why I am broken and to then leave me behind. It took me until November of my 20th year before I realized why I am convinced I am broken.

I don’t expect you to love me for it because I still hate myself for it.

But I cannot express how much it would mean to me for you to hand me something rainbow.

Love,

Your Queer Daughter


End file.
